The Corner Shop
by aujourd'hui
Summary: A tale in which George accidentally makes a Muggle sprout feathers. Told over five summers.
1. Summer, 1994

**Summary: A tale in which George accidentally makes a Muggle sprout feathers.**

 **Disclaimer: The _Harry Potter_ series belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

 ** _The Corner Shop_**

 **Summer, 1994**

 **i.**

The summer sun is hot on George's neck. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he curses his beloved mother for making him go on yet _another_ milk run.

He knows it's just a ploy to keep him away from Fred; the two were scheming all morning—excited to finally test their inventions on themselves—when Mum suddenly burst in like a vicious hurricane. One hand on his shoulder, she marched him downstairs and pushed him out into the sweltering heat. And George did as he was told because, as everyone knows, there's no arguing with Molly Weasley.

So, here he is, a wad of Muggle money in his pocket, walking down the well-worn path toward the village. A wooden sign pokes up from the field of grass, welcoming him into the cobblestone streets and neat, brick houses of Ottery St. Catchpole.

There's something so dastardly innocent about Muggle villages. To think that the people here are unaware of the magic around them is, to George, absolutely hilarious. They must lead such troublesome lives.

He reaches the meagre high street, lined by charity shops and restaurants. A scattering of people are out and about, enjoying the rare British sun.

Making his way through the thin crowd, George rounds a corner and walks down a smaller road until he arrives at his destination.

The local corner shop is a tiny, white-walled establishment, squashed between a takeout restaurant and a terrace house. A sign above the entrance reads: Ottery MiniMart. The window shows a grey interior of shelves stacked with groceries and essentials.

George walks in. A bell above the door rings.

A cashier is behind the counter, sitting on a stool. Her blonde hair is short and wavy. Chin propped on her hands, she glances at him and smiles: _hello._

George returns the smile and makes for the milk section. He's been in the shop plenty of times before and he knows roughly where everything is. He's still highly disturbed by the newspaper rack, though; the immobile pictures of British politicians are unnerving to look at.

He settles for two litres of whole milk, knowing full well that his mother prefers semi-skimmed. _What goes around comes around_ _._ He brings the cartons to the cashier.

The girl scans his items, but her gooseberry eyes are looking at him curiously. After staring at the booze shelf behind her for a while, George finally notices and raises an eyebrow: _what's up?_

"You're a Weasley, aren't you?" she asks.

"Um, yeah."

"One of the twins?"

"Uh, yep."

"And you live over the fields?"

"Okay, this is getting weird."

The girl chuckles. "Relax. I know your dad. He was here last week."

 _Merlin's beard, help me,_ George groans inwardly. "Let me guess, he's been harassing you."

At this, she laughs full-heartedly. "I mean, did you guys forget to teach him about technology or what? I can't turn on the TV without him asking all sorts of questions."

"Typical Dad, embarrassing the living daylight out of me, and he's not even here! Such talent."

"He's nice, I like him." She hands a plastic bag with his shopping across the counter. "That'll be one quid eighty, please."

Taking the bag, George blinks, puzzled. "Err…" _What the bloody hell is a 'quid'?!_

She's staring at him expectantly, waiting and starting to look confused that he's taking so long. Thinking fast, George's eyes glance down at the register, showing the price.

"Oh, right," he says hastily, reaching into his pocket for a five pound note and handing it over.

"Thank you." With a loud _cha-ching_ , she rummages around for his change then drops the little coins into his palm. He's halfway out the door, the bell above him ringing again, when she calls out.

"You aren't from around here, are you?"

George pauses. "Like Dad said, we live outside of town."

"I know. But, like, is your family from abroad or something?"

"You ask too many questions."

She brings a hand to her face. "You're right, sorry." Looking back up, she offers him an apologetic smile. "I'm Florence, nosy Florence."

"I'm George, slightly-scared-and-freaked-out George."

"Nice to meet you, freaked-out George." She's perched on her stool again, her chin settling back into her hands. "Come back soon."

"Only if you stop with the interrogation."

"I will, I promise."

* * *

 **ii.**

Four days later, she breaks her promise.

George is getting some fruit when Florence sneaks up next to him. It's another hot day, and she's dressed in a pair of dungaree shorts and a red tee.

"Don't you have a job to do?" George asks, bemused.

"I'll run back when the bell rings," she replies, shrugging. She watches him squeezing some apples (thankfully she's missed out on his inappropriate banana handling) before opening her mouth again: "So, what school do you go to?"

"I thought we agreed-"

"I know, I know, I can't help it," Florence sighs. "It's just, I dunno."

"What?"

"It's nice to have someone to talk to. And your family is so interesting."

"Oh? And why's that?" George asks, suddenly apprehensive.

"Well, your dad was in the middle of paying me when a big fat gold coin fell out of his pocket." Florence's eyes are alight with the memory. "He didn't seem to wanna say what it was. Any guesses?"

"Uh, he collects antiques."

"Wow, do you help him out?"

"Listen, I don't mean to be rude," George interrupts, steering the conversation out of dangerous waters, "but where did _you_ suddenly come from? I've never seen you in here."

"My dad owns the place. Since I'm nearly sixteen now he let me take charge this summer." She follows him around the shop, stopping when he ponders over the snack aisle.

"When's your birthday?"

"July 28th."

"That's soon, isn't it?"

"Mhm. About two weeks."

"Well, Happy Early Birthday!" He takes a card off the rack behind him and holds it out. "From yours truly."

A dimpled grin spreads across her face as she bats his hand away. "Clever."

"What're you getting for your birthday?"

"I dunno."

"I'm sure your folks have a nice surprise waiting for you." They walk towards the front together. "New car? Fancy jewellery?"

"More like revision guides and new stationary," she laughs, slipping under the counter and popping up on the other side.

"That's a bummer." He shoves his hands in his pockets as she scans the bag of apples and a chocolate bar, the machine giving a shrill _beep_ each time _._

"Mhm. I mean, my dad's a shopkeeper and my step-mum's a librarian," she says casually. "What can you expect?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

She meets his eyes briefly before glancing away, punching some buttons on the register. "One-seventy, please."

He hands over the coins and takes his things. "Thanks, see ya."

"See ya."

* * *

 **iii.**

"Dad, a word."

Arthur Weasley glances up from the _Daily Prophet_. "What's the matter?"

"Next time you're out buying stuff, _please_ —in the name of Merlin's baggiest overalls—stop acting weird."

"Don't talk to your father like that," his mother calls from the kitchen.

"I'm serious! That girl at the shop? She won't stop bugging me, and it's all because of you!"

His dad at least has the sense to look ashamed, but he recovers quickly. "George, you know I find it fascinating talking to Muggles! And she's _such_ a patient young lady. Just the other week, she was explaining how there are actually _different channels_ on the tellyfission. Isn't that incredible?"

George can't help but roll his eyes. "You know you sound like a nutter when you talk like that, right?"

"George!"

"Okay, okay!" Clearly he's not going to be able to lecture his dad with his mother hovering in the vicinity. Accepting defeat, George trudges out into the backyard, where Fred and Ginny are having a gnome-throwing contest.

"Did you tell him?" Ginny asks as her gnome flies through the air, squeaking like mad.

"I tried, but you know what Dad's like," George sighs. "The words went straight over his head."

"Good ol' Dad, putting the Statute of Secrecy at risk," Fred says in an approving voice. He picks up the nearest gnome and chucks it as far as he can over the hedge.

"Hey, cut him some slack," Ginny remarks, hitting him on the arm. "Let Dad do his thing."

"Even if he puts the rest of us to shame?"

Ginny rolls her eyes and ignores the question. "I'm gonna get a drink." She skips up the stairs and into the kitchen, leaving the twins in the backyard.

"You think I should get her something?"

"What?" Fred turns away from the remaining retreating gnomes and looks at him.

"The village girl. Her birthday's coming up."

Fred smirks knowingly, and immediately nudges George in the rib. "And you thought you'd treat her to a lil' Weasley charm, ay?"

"Piss off," George laughs, shoving him away. "I feel like I oughta. Can't hurt to befriend a local Muggle."

"Oh, _Georgie_ ," Fred coos, brown eyes gleeful. "So naïve. Or dishonest. Or both."

George swings a punch at his twin playfully. "Watch your mouth."

Fred dodges easily, but his mind is already on other matters. "Com'on," he says, sneaking a glance behind him, "let's go upstairs. Those Ton-Tongue Toffees aren't gonna make themselves."

* * *

 **iv.**

George stares down at the blank card in his hand, wondering what on earth he should write. He's realising now that this impromptu decision is rather silly and fruitless. Maybe he should just forget about it.

"Honey, what're you doing?"

His mother pokes her head into his room, looking suspicious.

"Relax, Mum, Fred and I aren't plotting _._ "

"Oh! Is this for the Muggle girl?" she asks, her eyes landing on the card, and suddenly she's all simpering and motherly again. _A Metamorphagus in action,_ he thinks to himself, not sure whether to be impressed or terrified.

"Yeah, I dunno what to write though. I don't really know her."

"All the more reason to do the shopping more often!" she exclaims, and George knows he's fallen into her trap. "Then you'll _really_ make a friend out of her."

 _And you won't have time to chat with your brother,_ he finishes for her. "Have you actually met her, Mum?"

"No, but I've met her father. He seems like a friendly enough chap. And, between you and me, your father and I are _more_ than happy for any of you boys to date someone from the Muggle-"

"Mum, get out!"

* * *

 **v.**

A week later, and George finds himself heading back to the corner shop, holding a packet of custard creams and a card. Before he left the house that day, Fred pressed the biscuits onto him, saying it would make a great gift; Dad bought them from Diagon Alley, and the custard creams have tiny engravings of famous witches and wizards.

However, when George finally arrives at the store, Florence isn't there. A man stands behind the counter instead, and the resemblance is as clear as day; the hazel green eyes, the thin lips, the curl of the ears.

George walks in. _Ding._

"Hi, is Florence around?"

Florence's father looks up and sees the gift in George's hand. "G'day, mate! A friend of our girl, are ya?"

"Yep," George replies, without thinking.

"Schoolmates?"

"Yep." _Why does everyone in this family ask so_ _many damn questions._

"Splendid. Absolutely splendid. I can take those for her if y'like," her father says, holding his hands out, but then he pauses. "Unless you wanna deliver it yerself?"

"If that's okay."

"No problemo. She's at home right now. D'you know the way?"

George shakes his head, and the middle-aged man proceeds to give him directions. Even so, it takes him a good fifteen minutes before he arrives. George finds himself standing in front of a narrow terrace house made of red bricks and white window frames; droopy plants hang over the windowsill whilst plump little bushes line the path to the front door. A faded blue car is parked to one side. And, suddenly, George is a little apprehensive; he's never stepped foot into a Muggle's house before, and certainly not on his own.

But, he's a Gryffindor, so he swallows his doubts and walks forward to ring the doorbell. A few minutes pass, and the bright red door is flung open, revealing a completely surprised and dishevelled Florence.

"George!"

Without a word, George takes out a party horn from his pocket and blows it hard, making her jump. "I thought you'd be at the shop, but I guess your old man gave you the day off." He hands her the packet of custard creams and her card. "Happy Birthday, nosy cashier girl!"

"Wow, I wasn't expecting this," Florence laughs in disbelief. "I mean, _God,_ I'm still in my pj's."

She is indeed, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and lounge shorts. After another weak shake of the head, she looks down at her gift. "Thank you so much! You really didn't have to."

"Not a problem. What're you up to today?"

"Well, not much, really. I think my dad and Claudia are taking me out for dinner." She smiles and steps to one side. "Wanna come in? Keep the lonely birthday girl some company?"

"With pleasure." He crosses the threshold ( _past the point of no return_ , he gulps) and follows her into a messily cosy living room. They sit side-by-side on the fat double-seater sofa, and George looks around. He notices there are a lot of wires snaking along the floor. _How do Muggles live like this?_

"I really like the card," she pipes up, after reading his scrawled handwriting. She then inspects the biscuits. "Are those wizards?"

"Yep."

"Did you get these from Disneyland?"

"Sure," he replies, having absolutely no clue what she's just said.

Unwrapping the clear packaging, Florence eats a biscuit cheerfully. "Mmm. So, George Weasley," she says, settling back into the cushions, "tell me about yourself. Convince me that letting a near-stranger into my living room without a chaperone was a good idea."

George chuckles. "Isn't your mum home?"

"Step-mum," she corrects, scratching her arm absentmindedly. "And nah, she's still working,"

"Cool. Well, I'm sixteen too, welcome to the party. I, er, go to a boarding school."

"Any subjects you're particularly interested in?"

"Not really, but let's just say I like to pull a good prank."

Florence laughs as she itches her elbow. "Ahh, a class clown. Got it. I'm staying away from the likes of you from now on."

"Funny. How 'bout you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Got any tricks up those sleeves of yours?"

"Well, I like to draw. Portraits, mostly, I just really like sketching faces, especially the eyes. Can't seem to get anything right once I go past the shoulders, though." She scratches her arms more fervently.

"I see…"

"I'd show you some, but you probably aren't-"

"Are you okay?" he interrupts, unable to stop himself.

"What? Oh, yeah, just itchy. I think you let the gnats in." Her fingernails are scraping her arms uncontrollably now. "Anyway, what was I saying? Oh right, yeah, I normally use references from-"

And that's when it happens. Before she can finish, large yellow feathers suddenly sprout all over her, covering her arms, her legs, even her face. George can only gape at her, momentarily speechless. She looks as if she's wearing a badly made bird costume, feathers poking out at odd angles, and he is caught somewhere between laughing and slapping himself, _hard_.

It takes Florence a while to realise what's happened. At the look on his face, she glances down, and her eyes widen in shock.

"Oh my God."

Hands shaking slightly, she turns her arms this way and that, staring at the feathers now protruding from her skin. They wave gently as her arm moves, innocent and fluffy, and, for the briefest moment, George suddenly has the bizarre desire to pluck her.

"Okay, relax," he tells her, standing up and holding his hands out, as though trying to calm a wild gazelle about to flee. "Don't freak out, okay? Everything's fine."

Florence catches her reflection in the mirror and screams.

* * *

 **vi.**

George climbs the stairs up to his bedroom. He finds his dear brother sitting on the bed with his back against the wall. At his entrance, Fred looks up and an ear-splitting grin appears on his freckled face.

"Was it good?" the older twin asks excitedly, bouncing onto his knees.

"Oh sure, it was hilarious. _Absolutely hilarious._ "

Fred lets out a wailing laugh. "Canary Creams! I've been _dying_ to make one. Did it work?"

"Sort of? She grew a bunch of feathers, and _thank Merlin_ she moulted after a bit. But honestly, Fred," George continues angrily at his renewed chortling, "what were you thinking?! She's a Muggle!"

"Com'on," Fred says reasonably, "it was just a joke! No harm done!"

Exasperated, George gives him a good whack on the head and walks out, slamming the door shut.

* * *

 **vii.**

Florence doesn't show up at the store for the rest of the week. George visits her house instead, but each time he does, her parents tell him that she's busy or asleep or simply doesn't want to see him.

So he writes a letter, apologising for the horrific incident and promising to explain everything if she'll just meet him. A part of him wonders if he can pull off a Memory Charm when (or if) they finally meet, but he hastily stops that train of thought from leaving the station.

Letter finished, George goes to coax Errol down from the roof. The ancient owl flies down and perches precariously on one leg, allowing him to tie the letter to his talon.

"Who're you writing to?" Ginny asks, wandering over curiously.

"The Muggle girl."

Ginny snickers; Fred told her about the events of her birthday. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"And why's that, smartypants?"

"Don't you think she'll be even more freaked out with Errol crashing into her window?"

George pauses. "You've got a point there." He unties the letter and tears it apart so aggressively that it causes Errol to screech and fly away in terror.

* * *

 **viii.**

At last, he manages to confront her when she returns to work a couple days later.

Florence is serving another customer when George slips in. _Ding._ Her eyes flicker over and she glares at him. "That'll be five pound twenty, please," she says rather forcibly to the old lady buying grapes.

George clears his throat and loiters by the magazine rack, feeling the intensity of her gaze boring into the back of his head as they wait for the old lady to hobble out the door. There's another _ding,_ signalling that they're alone. Florence ducks through the counter and rounds on him; they open their mouths at the same time.

" _Explain_!"

"I'm sorry!"

"No, _honestly_ , explain! What the hell did you do to me?!"

"It was my twin!" he cries. "He messed with the custard creams."

"Yeah, I gathered you put something in it." She puts her head in her hands. "I mean, _Jesus,_ I thought I was on an acid trip or something. At least it might explain what I saw, and yet I'm _still_ finding feathers under the couch so obviously it wasn't a hallucination, was it?"

"I know, just…you didn't tell anyone, did you?"

"Of course not!" she retorts impatiently. "D'you think people would believe me if I told them I grew _feathers_?!"

"Okay, okay, let's go somewhere, all right? Let's find somewhere nice and quiet, and I'll answer all your questions."

Florence's nose twitches. She looks at him indecisively for a while longer before sighing in defeat.

"I get off work at five."

* * *

 **ix.**

They sit on the swings, the park slowly emptying around them, George talking non-stop for a long time. He talks about wands, Hogwarts, and anything else he can think of to help explain the magical world, _his_ world. When he finally finishes, they're the only ones left in the park. Although it's still light outside, the sun has already dipped below the horizon, and the clouds are beginning to look pink and purple.

"…so, yeah. I'm a wizard. That custard cream was charmed to turn you into a canary. I know it was a nasty birthday surprise, but I didn't mean it. Honest."

Swinging gently, Florence stares at the trees, her expression surprisingly blank. George waits for a response, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, afraid that he might've actually broken her grasp on reality. _Oh boy._

After a lengthy moment, she finally turns her eyes on his. "Wow."

George smirks. She hits him, but she's laughing.

"No! Like, seriously, wow!" she exclaims, hugging her sides, chortling. "That was honestly the most _ridiculous_ thing I've ever heard!"

"What?! Com'on, I've been telling you the truth! Wait, look." And he reaches into his pocket, taking out a photo of his family. "Look! Just quit laughing for a sec and _look_!"

She glances down, and immediately shuts up, prompting a triumphant smirk from her companion. "Whoa. Is this some kind of magic trick?" she says slowly, taking the photograph and turning it upside down; his family gesture frantically at the change in gravity, their mouths opening soundlessly: _stop, stop!_

"Trick? No. Magic?" George's brown eyes twinkle mischievously, "Why, certainly."

* * *

 **x.**

In the end, Florence decides to believe him.

Over the course of the next two weeks, George uses a fair portion of his time to sneak magical items out of the house to show her. Some of her favourite possessions of his include a pack of Exploding Snap (they spend a long time playing in the park, careful to shoo away any nearby children), a terrified chess piece that thinks he's being kidnapped, and a fake wand that turns into a rubber chicken when Florence gives it a wave.

In return, she teaches him bits and bobs about the Muggle world. George finally knows where and what Disneyland is, and is slowly accumulating a small grasp of Muggle celebrities. One day, she shows him her CD player, putting an odd-looking bud into his ear and startling him with songs by groups called 'The Beatles', 'Pink Floyd' and other ridiculous-sounding names.

And then, before he knows it, the Quidditch World Cup is just a few days away.

"Remind me again who's playing?"

The two are sitting on a bench in the afternoon sun; Florence's legs are crossed. "Ireland and Bulgaria," George replies.

"And you're supporting Ireland?"

"That's right. I can't wait, it's gonna be _such_ a crazy game."

"I still don't understand how Quidditch works," Florence says with a frown.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you next time we're on break. I'll bring my Cleansweep and show you the ropes."

"So you're heading straight to Hogwarts, then, after this World Cup?"

"Yep. It's gonna be a busy few days, I don't think I'll have time to come over."

Florence looks a little disappointed. "And here I was thinking I'd get another week of Weasley's Magical Lessons before term starts."

"Hey, cheer up!" George says, reaching over and pinching her cheek. "I'll be back for Christmas before you know it."

She smacks his hands away. "It's gonna be so weird with you gone. This _still_ feels like a dream sometimes."

"I'll write then, to remind you that I am, indeed, a real person. Only if you don't mind owls flying smack into your window, that is."

"I don't mind, I love animals. So, pen pals?"

"Deal."

They both get up, Florence stretching her arms over her head after her day at work. A horde of young children run past them, heading back home for supper, followed urgently by a bustling group of parents.

"Have a good term, Florence," George says, offering his hand.

She takes his hand and shakes it firmly, a fond smile on her face. "Call me Flo. And you too, Mr. Weasley. Don't get into too much trouble."

 **Author's note: And that's the first chapter! Hope you enjoyed it, please leave a review or fave and have a lovely day :)**


	2. Summer, 1995

**Author's note: Apologies for the re-upload, there were a few errors I had to correct. Please enjoy the new chapter and let me know what you think! :)**

 **Disclaimer: The** _ **Harry Potter**_ **series** **belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

 _ **The Corner Shop**_

 **Summer, 1995**

 **i.**

"Ding dong!"

Flo glances away from the tiny TV in the corner. A bright smile lights up her face. "Wow. Look what the cat dragged in."

George grins toothily and leans over the counter, giving her a one-armed hug. She looks just the same as she did last year, though her hair's grown longer and she seems a little leaner. "How've you been?" he asks, looking around the shop. "Still working the summer job?"

"Mhm. My old man's finally paying me too!" she says gleefully.

"You mean he didn't pay you last summer?!"

"Nope. All volunteer work."

George laughs, incredulous. "Well, aren't you a saint. I'll only do chores if I get a healthy pocket of Sickles in return."

"Sickles?"

"Wizard money."

"Ah, right." And then, out of nowhere, she frowns. "I have a bone to pick with you."

"Oh?" George is taken aback by her drastic change in tone.

"You're a horrible pen pal."

 _Oh blimey._ "I was busy watching the Tournament! And making stuff with Fred! You know that."

"But a whole _month_ with no reply?" she retorts, a smirk on her lips. "I always write back straight away."

"Oh com'on," George says in exasperation, "you _know_ that's only 'cus the school owls can't hang around long, and since you don't actually _own_ an owl…"

The conversation stalls when a young couple walks in. The man's hand seems to be glued to his partner's waist, and they exchange sickening looks whilst they wait at the register. George pulls a disgusted face behind them, making Flo crack up as she hands over their change; her customers stare at her in annoyance.

"Get out," she scolds him once the couple leaves. "You're ruining my reputation."

"What reputation?"

She scrunches an old newspaper and flings it at his head, but he steps out of the way. "Good aim."

"I'll have you know I'm on the netball team."

"What kind of sport is _that_?"

Her jaw drops. "Don't tell me you don't know," she says, as though he's just personally offended her.

"I have a feeling a net and a ball are involved."

Flo rolls her eyes and checks her watch. "Tsk, tsk, you've still so much to learn."

"Playground at five?"

"Sure." She sits down and swivels on her stool. "Thanks for coming, by the way," she adds, fixing her braid distractedly. "I didn't think you would."

"Don't be daft." George waves over his shoulder. "Talk to your later."

* * *

 **ii.**

He tells her about the Triwizard Tournament, filling in the gaps in his steadily dwindling letters. As predicted, she's absolutely fascinated by his descriptions of the four dragons, and the existence of mermaids is enough to make her gasp and clap excitedly, prompting George to look away in fake embarrassment.

"I don't know her," he tells a passing mother pushing a pram. "I don't know this girl."

Flo chooses to ignore this, as does the stranger who continues walking. "Com'on, get on with it," she urges, nudging his arm. "What happened in the third Task?"

"Well, the champions had to get through a maze with different obstacles. Whoever found the Cup first was the winner." But his voice trails a little here, suddenly reminded by that terrible night. He remembers the jolting rush of adrenaline when he and the rest of the school saw the two bodies reappear: one holding the Cup, and the other lying stock still under the inky night sky, eyes unblinking. The screams were ringing in George's ear as he turned, his confusion and shock mirrored in Fred's face.

Flo seems to sense the shift in his mood. "You okay?" she asks, concerned.

Shaking his thoughts away, George sighs. "Yeah, just remembering. Well, I don't wanna trouble you."

"What d'you mean? Did something bad happen?"

"Yeah, you could say that." He looks away, kicking himself into the air on the swings. "You know what? Forget it."

"No, com'on! What is it?" And when he keeps swinging in silence, she grabs the chain and pulls him to a stop. "Please?"

George flicks her forehead with a finger. "You're pesky, y'know that?"

"So I've been told," she says with a sarcastic smirk, but then her expression softens. "You can tell me."

George sighs again. "It's not that I don't trust you or anything, it's just…it's complicated."

"We have all afternoon," Flo replies patiently. "I mean, it'll be like last year, remember?"

"All right, all right," George concedes. Holding onto the chains, he tilts backward and stares up at the peach-kissed sky, wondering how in Merlin's name he's going to introduce Lord Voldemort into her mundane, untainted world.

* * *

 **iii.**

"You twats!" Ron yells.

Laughing wickedly, Fred releases the Levitating Charm from the now empty bucket, George guffawing by his side.

"I oughta wash your mouth too!" Fred hollers back, leaning halfway out the window to watch as Ron pushes his sodden hair out of his eyes. His shirt and jeans are drenched, clinging to his lanky limbs, and the water has made the dirt under him muddy.

"What'd I ever do to you?" Ron shouts, throwing his arms up and flicking water everywhere.

"You were born!" the twins respond in unison.

"Oh, and you ate the last pudding," Fred adds, as if this is reason enough.

Ron flips them off and stomps back inside, cursing all the way.

"Did he really eat the last pudding?" George asks, withdrawing from the window.

"Nope. It was Dad." Fred throws himself onto his bed, facing the ceiling. "Blimey, I _love_ being seventeen."

"Hear, hear." George settles onto his chair and props his feet up on the table. "Walking's a thing of the past now, isn't it?"

"It sure is! Did you see the look on Percy's face when we Apparated behind him?"

George chuckles. "Dropped all his precious files on the floor like he'd just been jumped by a mugger."

"' _They're all out of order! This'll take weeks to organise!_ '" Fred says in a whiny voice, chuckling to himself before swiftly changing the topic. "So how'd it go?"

"Hm?"

"How's your Muggle friend doing?"

"Oh, she's good. I told her about You-Know-Who."

"You did what?!" Fred sits up straight.

"You heard me."

"Well, why'd you do that?!"

"I was trying to explain how Cedric died."

"Oh…" Fred pauses, twirling his wand around his fingers. "How'd she take it?"

"Well, I don't think I managed to get it across how dangerous You-Know-Who is. She couldn't keep a straight face when I said his name."

Fred grins, and the still air that's been suffocating them since the mention of Cedric's name seems to lift.

"I like her," Fred comments, before a sharp rapping on their door whips their attention away.

Mrs. Weasley storms into the room. "Care to explain why you two thought it was a good idea to pour a bucket of _ice cold_ _water_ over your brother's head?!"

"He was born," says Fred boldly and instantly receives a vicious smack on the arm with a rolled up copy of _Witch Weekly._

* * *

 **iv.**

"Wait, what do you mean we're leaving?!"

Their father heaves a sigh and continues to tuck into his steak and ale pie. "All you need to know is that we're going somewhere secure. That's what's important. So pack your things and get ready to leave in the next couple of days."

"But we've only been back for a week!" Ginny protests.

The family is sat around the dinner table, and an air of mystery is slowly seeping into the room; looks of confusion grow upon the Weasley childrens' faces as they turn to their parents for an explanation.

"I know," Mr. Weasley replies, adjusting his spectacles. "But this is by Dumbledore's orders. I can't say too much right now, it's not safe, and I'm sure you all know why. Just trust us, trust Dumbledore, and pack your things soon."

"But where are we going?"

"Just listen to your father and do as you're told!" Mrs. Weasley snaps. "This is for your own good!" She looks unnaturally shaken as she sets down her cutlery, and it isn't news to anyone that she's hiding something from them.

"Has this got anything to do with Harry?" Ron asks, but his mother's eyes are like daggers as she turns to him.

"Did you hear what I said? No more questions! We're leaving in three days. Bring whatever you need for school and-"

"Hold on, we're not coming back?!"

"How long are we staying?"

"Is Dumbledore going to be there?"

Molly Weasley slams her palms onto the table, making the glasses and plates clatter noisily.

"ENOUGH!"

* * *

 **v.**

George leans against the metal rods holding up the swings, the red paint flaking onto his clothes. He waits, fiddling with the strap of his backpack, and soon enough Flo is walking towards him.

"Hi," he greets her. He makes to sit down, but she tugs at his sleeve and beckons him over. "What?"

"Let's go to my place today," she says, picking the bits of dried paint off his shirt. "Com'on!"

So he follows her through the park and back to that little terrace house, all the while listening to her ramble on about the upcoming year and how it's so annoying to spend the summer writing a personal statement in order to get into some place called 'university'.

Before he knows it, Flo's unlocking the front door and stepping inside. "You're quiet today," she remarks as they climb the stairs.

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are." The second floor consists of a small landing, leading to two bedrooms and a white-tiled bathroom. One of the bedroom doors has the word 'Flo' spelled out in bright yellow wooden blocks.

Blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders, Flo pushes open the door and curtsies theatrically. "Welcome, dear friend, to my humble abode."

George walks inside. The bedroom is the epitome of warmth and drowsy laziness. The walls are the colour of pale duck eggs; old photographs have been hung up in colourful frames. An assorted pile of stray belongings occupy one side of the room: stuffed animals, rolled up socks, bags, old fat textbooks, shoeboxes. Her window is draped in rich yellow curtains that match her bed covers and pillow. Facing the view outside is a desk, upon which sits a neat stack of CDs, a camera, a small cactus and an orange lamp. The air smells faintly of sunflowers and honeycomb.

Flo flops onto her bed. "Verdict?"

George walks past her closet and leans against the desk. "Pretty snazzy."

"Pretty _snazzy_?"

"Joking. It's really, er, girly."

"You're digging yourself into a hole here."

"I know," George says with a sigh. "I'm a lost cause."

Flo laughs, but when she calms down there's a touch of seriousness in her eyes. "So what's on your mind today? And don't bother lying. I may be a 'Muggle', but I sure as hell make a good lie detector."

"It's nothing serious," he replies in earnest. "It's just that…I'm leaving town for the summer."

Flo blinks at him like an owl. "What do you mean?"

"Remember the evil guy I told you about last time?"

"Lord Voldemort?" she replies with a twitch of the lips.

"Yeah, so you know how he's back from the dead? Well, basically, I think my family's going to some sort of safe house."

Flo's eyes widen. "Are you in danger?"

"To be honest, I don't really know," George admits. "My folks are keeping it all pretty secret."

"When are you leaving?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"Oh." A pause. "But you just got back."

"I know, I'm sorry," he adds, at the momentarily crestfallen silence. "Look!" He shrugs off his backpack and walks over, sitting beside her. Unzipping the bag, he dumps the contents onto her bed: two bottles of Butterbeer, a bag of Every Flavour Beans, and a complete set of parchment, quill and ink.

"What's all this?" Flo asks, eyes widening.

"Your birthday presents," George replies. "I thought about sending an owl, but I don't think poor Errol could've handled it. And besides, I wanted to see the look on your face."

"Oh George, you never cease to amaze me," Flo laughs, picking up a Butterbeer and examining the label. "Wow. That's a lot of calories."

"You're too young to be counting calories," George says dismissively. "But I think you'll like this the most…"

He gets up and spreads some of the parchment onto her table. Dabbing the brand new quill into the ink, he holds the quill out to her and gestures. "Go on, draw something."

Flo approaches him hesitantly. "Anything?"

"Anything."

She takes the quill and, after a second's thought, draws a cartoon dog. The moment she finishes and picks her hand up from the parchment, the dog instantly springs into life, chasing its tail and barking soundlessly.

"Oh my God," Flo laughs breathlessly, staring at her own creation. "That's crazy."

"I knew you'd like it," George comments proudly. "Aren't I just the best?"

Flo smiles widely and gives him a hug. "You sure are, Weasley."

* * *

 **vi.**

It's the day of their departure from the Burrow. Fred and George are finishing the last of their packing when Ginny knocks on their door.

"What d'you want?" Fred asks when she pokes her head in.

"There's an argument down in the kitchen," she replies, already heading toward the stairs.

The twins follow her out, and sure enough faint voices can be heard shouting down below. "Isn't that Perce?" Fred asks, puzzled.

"Yeah, it is. What's he getting so mad about?" George says as they trot down the stairs. "The office not taking him seriously, perhaps?"

But as they approach the kitchen, it's clear that something unpleasant is unfolding. The twins and Ginny find themselves staring at their father and Percy standing feet apart, both red in the face and looking as though they want to shake some sense into the other. Their mother is there, too, but her voice seems to be silenced by the words flying between her husband and son.

"-and _I'm_ disappointed I've raised a son who blindly follows any sort of authority figure he sees!" Arthur Weasley is saying, his glasses slightly askew.

"Speak for yourself!" Percy replies heatedly. "How can you believe so blindly in Dumbledore?! He's mad!"

"I trust him! And right now he's the only person we _can_ trust!"

"If you truly think that, then you're mad as well!"

"OI!" Fred hollers, stepping forward. "Take that back!"

"I don't know how you stand it," Percy snaps at him. "Do you know how hard I've had to work to get rid of Dad's reputation?! He doesn't even _try_ to do better for us!"

"THAT'S IT!" Fred whips out his wand. "Shut your FAT MOUTH!"

"NO! Fred!" his father intervenes, holding his hands out when Percy also takes out his wand. He turns to his older son. "Percy, see sense! Don't you understand that Fudge is using you? To get to Dumbledore?"

Percy lets out a shrill, cold laugh of disbelief. "Listen to yourself! The Minister happens to trust me, Dad! I'm sorry, but your jealousy of my success is clouding your judgement!" He Levitates his suitcase off the floor, and it follows him as he sweeps past his siblings, heading out the front door.

"Jealousy?! YOU FOOL!" Arthur bellows across the kitchen.

Only now does Mrs. Weasley speak out. "Perce!" she cries, chasing after him. "Oh Percy, come back! Your dad doesn't mean it! Please don't leave!" And they can hear her still beseeching him in the front yard, but her wailing sobs and a distant _crack_ signify that she is too late.

The silence that follows is horrible and ugly. George realises that he's breathing hard. By his side, indignation and something darker are etched on Ginny's face.

Their father stares at the table, his fists clenched, visibly shaken.

"Good riddance," Fred snarls finally, his voice cutting the air. "Good bloody riddance."

Mr. Weasley heaves a sigh and sinks into the nearest chair.

* * *

 **vii.**

The twins' room is so dusty that, when they walk in together, the first thing they do is share a violent coughing fit.

"Galloping – _ack_ – gargoyles…MUM!" George curses through his tears, backing out and yelling down the banister. "Mum! Our room's uninhabitable!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" his mother retorts, climbing up the stairs toward them. "And lower your voice, you'll disturb the painting downstairs."

"The one of that screaming banshee?" Fred jokes.

"I'll have you know that was my mother," says Sirius' voice as he and Mrs. Weasley both arrive.

"Oh. Apologies mate," Fred says hastily, but Sirius only barks in laughter.

"Don't worry about it. Can't say I care enough to defend her in death," he shrugs nonchalantly, and the twins exchange looks. "So, what's wrong with the room?"

"There's a dust storm in there," George explains.

"Yeah. Felt like we were back in Egypt," Fred reminisces.

"Boys, you're both of age now, you can do the cleaning yourselves," their mother scolds, but nevertheless she steps into the room and waves her wand: " _Tergeo!_ "

The cloud of dust begins to swirl in the air, slowly vanishing from sight. However, there still seems to be a heavy layer of grime on the floor, and when Fred walks in and dumps his bag on the bed, another puff of dust rises up to meet him. The cracked window overlooking Grimmauld Place is murky as well, as though the ancient house has grown cataracts over the last decade.

"Sorry lads," Sirius says, looking into the room. "Looks like you two will have to do a little more work on this joint."

"I thought you'd cleaned the house by now," Mrs. Weasley addresses him, her brow furrowed.

"Give me a break Molly, look at the size of this place! And I bet a lot of the junk is Cursed. You ought to tell the children to be careful."

"I will. Another thing, would it be all right if you helped me with dinner? A couple of the Aurors said they might stay back tonight."

"Aurors?" Fred asks keenly, coming back to the doorway. "What Aurors?"

"Your dad and I will explain later," she replies. "Now, do your best to clean up your room and go check on your siblings."

* * *

 **viii.**

 _July 20_ _th_ _, 1995_

 _Hi Flo,_

 _So I'm at the place I told you I'd be going. I'm realising now that that sounds really vague and stupid, but I can't be any more specific than that._

 _I'm sorry, you probably want to beat my head in, but I've been sworn to secrecy. It's all to do with the person I told you about, the one with the weird name. Hope you understand._

 _There's not much to do here, though, so don't get jealous. It's mostly cleaning (I think I'm not even allowed to write that) and inventing with Fred. I'm sending you-_

"Lunchtime." Ron pokes his head into the room.

"Be there in a sec."

Ron sees the roll of parchment. "Oh, you're busy writing to your _girlfriend_ ," he remarks, sniggering. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

With a flick of his wand, George sends his dusty pillows chasing after his younger brother. He turns back to his letter.

 _-one of our latest products. We've named them Extendable Ears. Just put one end in your ear and let the other end do its thing (don't scream this time, it'll defeat the purpose) and eavesdropping will be as easy as one-two-three!_

 _Hope your personal statement (is that what it's called?) is going well. Fred and I are thinking of making some quills that can write on their own. That'd be pretty_ snazzy _, wouldn't it?_

 _Write back when you can. Don't burn down the shop._

 _Yours truly,_

 _George_

* * *

 **ix.**

"George, for the last time, go help Ron with the cleaning."

"But why?" George moans, sitting up from his bed. "I thought he was already done."

"He's only done his half of the room," Mrs. Weasley sighs. "It wouldn't be a very nice welcome for Harry to sleep in a dusty, bug-ridden bed, now would it?"

"Wait, Harry's coming tomorrow?" Fred asks from the other bed. "I thought he was coming later."

At this, Molly purses her lips. "That was the plan. But unfortunately that horrible Mundungus Fletcher didn't do his job, and now the poor child's got to go to a hearing at the Ministry."

"What?!" George gets to his feet. "What for?"

"There were a couple of Dementors near his home. He had to protect himself."

"And so what? Why're they charging him?" Fred demands angrily.

"I know, it's just not fair. But there's nothing we can do. So you'd best go downstairs and help Ron to make Harry feel at home." Mrs. Weasley gives him one last stern look before leaving them.

"I s'ppose I've got no choice," George sighs, getting to his feet. He's halfway out the door when something occurs to him. "Wait, what's the date today?"

"It's the third," Fred replies, scratching his nose. "Why?"

A stone drops heavily in George's stomach.

"Oh shit."

* * *

 **x.**

 _August 7_ _th_ _, 1995_

 _Hi George,_

 _Don't worry about missing my birthday, it's fine! I gathered you were busy doing important things. I hope your family is okay and safe._

 _Thanks again for the beans and the quill, they're getting me through the long days at the shop as well as the tedious nights of making stuff up for my personal statement. It's getting there, though. Kind of._

 _Dad actually bought me a necklace! He said eighteen's a special year, so he splurged a little this time. I've sent you a photo, and please don't say it's 'snazzy' or else I'll hold Pigwidgeon hostage, I swear._

 _I would send you a drawing but I'm still getting used to the ink. I prefer pencil and charcoal. Right now my inked portraits always end up looking like Picasso paintings. Do you know who Picasso is?_

 _Anyway, that's all I've got. Summer really isn't the same without Weasley's Magical Lessons, you know._

 _Take care and let me know if you're coming back._

 _Your friend,_

 _Flo_


	3. Summer, 1996

**Author's note: Sorry for the long wait! We have now reached the middle chapter of the story. Please enjoy :)**

 **Disclaimer: The** _ **Harry Potter**_ **series** **belongs to J. K. Rowling.**

 _ **The Corner Shop**_

 **Summer, 1996**

 **i.**

The Ottery St. Catchpole train station is empty when George arrives. Inside the tiny hall, a bored and pudgy ticket officer sits behind a glass panel, and a row of turnstiles guard the deserted platforms beyond.

George sits down on a bright plastic chair and looks up at the overhead display, checking the arrival times. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the ticket officer glancing at his brand new dragon-skin jacket. He gives the man a wink, but is sadly ignored.

After a fifteen-minute wait, a train finally pulls into the station and a handful of people disembark. Most are office workers commuting home, but George spots a blonde girl in school uniform walking towards the waiting hall; a maroon blazer is draped over her arm, the colour matching her pleated skirt.

Walking through the turnstiles, Florence looks up and stops dead as he catches her eye.

"Hi," he greets her, and when she continues to stare at him stonily, he plunges into his pre-prepared speech: "Listen, I know I've been an absolute crap pen pal. I wrote like, what, four times? And _I know_ I promised I'd be back for Christmas, but my dad had to stay in hospital for a while, so we lived nearby to visit. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you all this. I really wanted to! But we couldn't risk having any information leaked. So yeah, in conclusion, I'm just really sorry, hope you can understand."

He waits for a reply, but he gets nothing in return except for her resolute silence.

"Com'on, Flo," George bursts out, feeling his frustration grow. "I'm doing my best here, okay? I even looked up when you get off school so I could come and pick you up! Plus, Fred and I finally opened the joke shop and we're busier than ever. I don't even _live_ here any more, but I'm here, aren't I? What more do you want from me?!"

Flo blinks at him a few seconds longer before finally speaking in a calm voice: "I'll tell you what I want, Weasley. Two things. One, I want a tour of this joke shop of yours. And two," she continues, putting a hand on his arm and smiling into the sunlight, "I want one of these fancy jackets for myself."

* * *

 **ii.**

"You sure this is the right place?"

"Of course. I _live_ here, Flo."

"Yeah, I dunno 'bout you, but all I'm looking at is a closed run-down store," Flo replies as they stand in the middle of Charing Cross Road.

"Really?" George asks, surprised. He glances up at the Leaky Cauldron sign and looks through the dusty window; he can see a couple of wizards at the bar. "Is that what you're seeing?"

"Mhm. Just an abandoned old shop." She gestures at the next display window. "That bookstore looks nice, though."

"Well, maybe you'll see something different when you step inside," George says, opening the door for her.

Flo hesitates. "If you say so." She walks past the threshold, and George watches as her expression instantly changes from one of scepticism to pure, utter disbelief.

"See it now?" he asks with a smirk, walking in beside her.

"This is literally the dodgiest pub I have ever seen in my life," she whispers in both surprise and repulsion, making George laugh. The wooden tables and chairs are indeed rickety and old, and the dim lighting and murky windows certainly aren't helping the dreary atmosphere. And yet, the wizards sipping Firewhiskey at the bar seem to be having a jolly good time.

Tom is behind the bar as usual, and upon the pair's entry he looks up. "Care for a drink, laddie?" the old man calls.

"No thanks, Tom. Just showing a friend around," George replies with a friendly wave (it occurs to him that he might be breaking some kind of Wizarding law for bringing a Muggle in, but he decisively ignores the thought; he's never been one to follow rules, anyway). Putting a hand on the small of Flo's back, he guides her to the back of the pub, where they emerge into a grey courtyard surrounded by high brick walls.

" _This_ is where you live?" Flo questions, a teasing bite in her voice.

"Hold your hippogriffs." George takes out his wand and taps the secret brick three times. As soon as he finishes, the wall suddenly comes alive, bricks twisting and turning to form a grand archway over their heads. And there, beyond the archway, lies the famous Diagon Alley: a noisy cobblestone street lined with oddly-shaped buildings and spectacular outlets. Wizards and witches of all ages are bustling up and down the alley, laden with the day's purchases: new pets in their cages, heavy textbooks, sparkling dress robes. The sight is a fairy tale mix of chaos and colour.

"Lovely, isn't it?" George looks over his shoulder to find a flabbergasted Flo gaping down the street.

Flo laughs in amazement, taking a few steps forward onto the cobblestones. "Holy moly."

"Holy moly?! Wow, you really are impressed."

But before he can say another word, her arm is wrapped around his and she's dragging him into the nearest store. After a full inspection of the shop, she pulls him into the next, and then the next. By the time they reach the fifth shop (Rosa Lee Teabag), two hours have already passed.

"At this rate, Fred will've closed the shop by the time we get there," George says, forcing an over-excited Flo back onto the street.

"But I wanna try the tea!" Flo complains, staring wistfully at the assortment of tea sets in the window display.

"We'll have a tasting session on the way out, now com'on!" Taking her by the elbow, he leads her through the streets expertly until they arrive at 93 Diagon Alley. George looks up at the multi-storey, violently coloured establishment proudly; the large windowpanes reveal their newest product lines; bright posters plaster the walls, advertising the latest deals. He can see that, as always, youngsters and their apprehensive parents have filled up the building's several floors.

Flo looks completely and utterly entranced, her gooseberry eyes the size of Galleons as they slowly take in the sight before her.

"What d'you think?" George asks, and when she fails to reply he pokes her in the side. "Anyone in there?"

Flo finally tears her eyes away from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and flashes him a cheeky grin.

"Pretty snazzy."

Despite her horribly offensive reply, George lets her entwine her arm with his once more before stepping into the wonderful mayhem together.

* * *

 **iii.**

The flat is quiet. Fred's downstairs dealing with the rest of the day's customers, and George sits alone in his bedroom, looking through a rather thick book of Ministry regulations. They were recently warned of having broken a very specific commerce clause; thankfully, Fred managed to talk them out of trouble with the Ministry official, but from now on they'll have to be extra careful.

A creaking hinge signals Fred's return. George gets up from his desk and walks out into the living room. "Done for the day?"

"Yup, Verity's closing up," Fred replies, heading to the fridge for a Butterbeer. "Good performance! I've got a funny feeling we're gonna have to expand on our WonderWitch line. Did you see all those girls queuing up?"

"Yeah, terrifying. Maybe we should invent something for protection against cooties," George jokes, accepting the bottle Fred passes him.

"Protecting who?"

"Ourselves."

Fred grins and throws himself onto the sofa. Their living room is still half-furnished; a pile of unopened cardboard boxes sits in one corner. "I think it's a bit late for you," Fred drawls, taking a swig.

"What d'you mean?"

"I saw the way you were looking at Flo. How many times have you brought her over now, hm?"

"This was the third time, and screw off, you didn't see nothin'," George retaliates, but he turns his back on his twin and pretends to stare out of the window. The unfortunate thing about living alone with Fred is there's nobody else for the older twin to tease.

"You know, you should take her round the flat sometime," Fred continues ruthlessly. "I can give you two some privacy, and the shop's loud enough to mask whatever noises-"

George crosses the room and swiftly empties his Butterbeer all over Fred's head.

* * *

 **iv.**

"Can I take it off now?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Being kidnapped by a wizard is a lot scarier than being kidnapped by a normal person."

"Shush, we're almost there." George places his hands on Flo's shoulders, holding her still. "Okay, go on."

Flo reaches up and tears the blindfold from her eyes. They're standing in the orchard behind the Burrow's backyard: flowers of all kinds peek up at them, and a wide circle of trees shield them from the hills. Lying at Flo's feet is George's Cleansweep Five, recently polished for the special occasion.

"Happy Birthday!" George says, walking around to face her. "This is long overdue, but I've finally gotten round to it."

Flo fist pumps the air (making George visibly cringe) and gives him such a tight hug that the breath is squeezed from his lungs. "Finally! Thank you!"

"You're welcome," George gasps, pushing her away. "All right, first, I think a demonstration's in order-"

Flo ignores him and is already picking his broom up from the ground. "Stop yapping and teach, Weasley."

"Oi! If we're gonna do this, we're gonna do this my way," George demands. "I don't want you getting killed in some freak accident."

"That's sweet, but I've got it," Flo replies confidently, now straddling his broomstick with great enthusiasm. "Com'on, what's next?"

George fights down the urge to laugh. "You're doing it wrong, git. Put it down."

Flo scoffs. "Fine." She lets the Cleansweep fall onto the grass.

"Okay, now stand next to it – no, not like that, _there_ – and raise your hand over the handle. Now say the word 'up', and try and really mean it."

George watches as Flo follows his instructions. He has absolutely no idea if Muggles can fly brooms on their own, and as Flo continues to shout 'Up!' at the still piece of equipment with no avail, his doubts begin to grow.

"Okay, stop, this isn't working," George laughs, stepping forward just as the broom jerks up erratically and whacks him hard in the face. He stumbles sideway, his temple throbbing, and he hears Flo scurrying toward him.

"Are you okay?" Flo asks, reaching out and inspecting his head.

"I've had worse," he replies, though he winces when she touches the slowly swelling bump. "You're making progress. Maybe another hour of shouting and you'll convince it you're a witch."

Flo shakes her head. "You should show me how it's done. Sorry I was being stupid."

She's smiling up apologetically at him, and suddenly he's aware of just how close they're standing. He inexplicably picks up on the little details of her face: there's a sparse dash of faint freckles across her nose (nothing compared to his collection, of course), and to his surprise he realises she only has one dimple, not two. How has he never noticed these things before? They're glaring at him now, as bright as the sun beating down on their heads.

"KISS!" a voice bellows.

They instinctively spin around and are alarmed to find over half of the Weasley family (plus Harry and Hermione) gathered on the back porch, all watching with gleeful expressions on their faces. Fred, taking the lead, cups his hands around his mouth once more: "JUST DO IT!"

"GO AWAY!"

* * *

 **v.**

A week later and it's eight in the evening. Flo has successfully managed to sneak George into her bedroom without her dad and step-mother realising, and now the two are sat on the floor. A song called 'Wonderwall' is quietly playing from Flo's little stereo box.

"You didn't have to come today," Flo says again, hugging her knees to her chest. Her bedroom light is off, and their only source of illumination is the lamp on her desk; the room feels comfortably hazy and woolly. "I know you're busy with the shop."

George chuckles. "It's fine. Fred's got it under control."

"You sure? He must miss his right-hand man."

"Oh he can manage. Besides, Verity's there to help him out."

"You should get them together," Flo snickers. "She's cute."

"He's not interested."

"How 'bout one of your old classmates? Didn't he go to the Yule Ball with Angelina Johnson?"

"Ahh, good ol' Angelina," George remembers fondly. "But nope, no hope for Fred there. They're both too busy doing their own things."

"But you manage to sneak out all the time," Flo points out, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, that's 'cus they don't have to put up with an unstoppable clingy Muggle."

"Hey!" Flo hits him on the arm, but he only laughs and ruffles her hair. As retaliation, she shoves him surprisingly hard and he sprawls back onto the carpet.

"Wow," George laughs. "You're strong for a girl."

"Cut it out!"

"Flo!" a woman's voice calls from outside, and they both freeze. "Is that you talking?"

"Uh, yeah! I'm calling Lizzy on the phone!" Flo replies nervously.

"Okay! Your dad and I were just wondering." They hear muffled footsteps heading back downstairs and they exchange a look of relief.

"For a second there I thought I was gonna have to jump out the window," George muses.

"I thought you could Apparate."

"Yeah, but Apparating's really loud." He sits himself back up, leaning against his hands, and plucks up the courage to speak his mind: "How long have you known your step-mum for?"

"She met my dad when I was fourteen," Flo replies, crossing her legs. "They went out for a while, and then got married just a couple months before I met you, actually."

"So…before your sixteenth birthday?"

"Mhm."

"Do you like her?" George asks evenly.

Flo sighs. "She's nice, she really is. She tries to do everything right, you know? Cooks my favourite dishes, gossips like a teenager, watches the shows I like. But, I dunno," she continues, looking guiltily at her hands, "she's just not Mum, and I can't pretend that she is. Even after three years of living under the same roof. It's just not the same."

"What happened to your mum?"

"She passed away when I was ten. Ovarian cancer. Really tough, especially towards the end."

"I'm sorry." George finds that he is rooted to the spot. He doesn't really know what to do and regrets asking so much.

"I miss her." Flo heaves another sigh, this one deeper, and she puts her face in her hands. "Sometimes I dream about her, and it feels so real, like she was just here yesterday. Then I wake up and it hits me all over again that she's gone. It's the absolute worst feeling in the world, honestly."

 _Is she crying?_ George finally reaches out and puts a hand on her knee. "Hey, it's okay to miss her. You should talk to your dad."

Flo simply shakes her head, and with visible effort she looks back up. Her eyes are clear and fiercely alert. "It's not fair on him. I can tell he really does love her. It isn't fair that he's moving on and I can't."

"You sound just like a Hufflepuff, y'know that?"

Flo breaks out into a wistful smile and scoots closer to George. "Mum would've liked you," she says quietly, sitting right next to him.

"I'm sure I would've liked her too," George replies as he puts an arm around her.

Flo is silent. She simply buries her face into the crook of his shoulder. They sit like that for a while in the summer night, moths fluttering outside her window, their trembling shadows dancing in the pale moonlight.

* * *

 **vi.**

"Ding dong!"

George steps through the door of the corner shop. It's been a while since their talk in Flo's bedroom. The joke shop's been getting more and more hectic, and as a result they've had to hold interviews for potential new employees. But George sweeps all that from his mind and bows deeply when Flo looks up from her stool. "Good day, m'dear. Care to accompany me to the Leaky Cauldron this afternoon?"

To his mild surprise, Flo smiles but gives a meek shake of the head. "That's kind of you, but no thanks. Not today."

He blinks, taking a few steps and standing in front of the counter. There's a letter in her hand. "Okay…how 'bout a stroll in the park, then?"

Flo sighs, crossing her arms in front of her. "I'm not really in the mood, George. I'm sorry, I know you came all the way to see me, but I just don't want to talk today."

George is at a loss of what to say. In the three summers he's known her, he's never seen her so distant. "All right, spill it. What's wrong?"

There's a moment where he thinks she won't tell him. She seems to have a hard time looking at him, but eventually her grip on the letter tightens and she caves. "I got my grades back today."

"Oh." He's completely forgotten about her final year grades. "Were they bad?"

"They were bad. More than bad. I didn't meet any of my offers," she mutters, her expression darkening by the minute. "Not even my insurance choice."

"So that means…"

"So that means I'm not going to university this year!" Flo bursts out. "I failed, George! I'm a failure, and I've got a whole flipping year of _nothing_ ahead of me!"

George hitches a comforting smile onto his face. "I know you're upset, but that doesn't sound too bad, does it? Listen, you can come work for Fred and me at the shop! It'll be-"

But the look on her face tells him he's said the wrong thing. She fixes him with a rigid stare and seems to come to a decision on the spot.

"I don't think you should come by any more."

There's a pause in which George doesn't understand what he's hearing. "What?" he says blankly.

"I…I don't think this is a good idea."

"But…" His mind is reeling to catch up with her words. "But I thought you _wanted_ to see me, I thought you _wanted_ more time."

"I know, but I can't any more! My grades have plummeted like crazy since you came along, and now I've got to tell Dad that I didn't get in and…oh God." She rubs her temples, her brow wrinkling. "You distract me too much."

"I distract you?!" George replies, feeling anger suddenly well up inside him. "No, stop it. Don't you try and guilt trip me."

"I'm not, I just-"

"How can you say that when _you're_ the one who's spending so much time writing those long-arsed letters all year round!"

"What?" she splutters, her expression startled and hurt. "I-"

" _You're_ the one who can't stop asking questions, _you're_ the one who can't seem to get enough of me!"

"Oh please, don't flatter yourself," Flo snarls at him, standing up abruptly. "I'm just doing as any normal friend would. But you can _never_ seem to make time for me during the year, can you?"

"Yeah? Well maybe that's 'cus I've got a life to get on with, haven't I?! I can't _always_ be around to keep you entertained."

"They're just letters, George. Honestly, I never asked for much."

"All I'm saying is, don't put the blame on me that you didn't get into university or whatever. That's on you."

"Well then, I'm sorry for caring about our friendship too much. I see now it was all just a waste of time," Flo finishes heatedly, her cheeks flushed pink with spite, and her last, stinging words leave George speechless as he glares back at her.

After a long, painful moment, Flo faces away and sits back down.

"Go," she tells him without looking. "Please. Just go."

Unable to say out loud the things on his chest, George turns and leaves.

* * *

 **vii.**

George is kicking at the gnomes rather ill-naturedly when Ginny appears by his side.

"What d'you want?" he growls at her, sending a gnome sailing across the grass.

"My older brother is back home and I want to check on him, is that against the law?" she bites back, unfazed.

Her indignant response puts George to shame, and he continues his cruel degnoming regime. Ginny watches him at work before speaking again. "I'm sure if you just talk to her-"

"Mum put you up to this?" George interrupts, glaring.

"No. I put myself up to this."

"And who asked for your opinion?" He leaves the garden and heads back into the living room, but Ginny follows him persistently.

"Don't take that tone with me. I'm just trying to help," she replies smoothly, raising a cool eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, I don't need it."

"Great comeback."

"Shut up."

"Seriously George, I don't know what happened with Flo, but sulking around isn't going to do any good."

"Look, I'll take your advice once you stop disillusioning yourself to the fact that you're still into Harry, okay? How's about that?"

Ginny's eyes are as hard as ice as she stares at him. "That's different."

"Then why don't you _back off_ and let me-"

A loud knock at the front door breaks him off. Glad for an excuse to get away, George leaves Ginny standing amidst the sofas and opens the door to find a sweaty-looking Flo standing before him.

 _Speak of the bloody devil._

"How did you get here?" he asks aggressively, before he can stop himself. He can feel Ginny's eyes burning into the back of his head.

Flo gives him a reproachful look but doesn't rise to his tone. "You walked me over, remember? On my birthday. Right before you blindfolded me." She huffs a little and wipes her face. "Still, took me a while. This place is really well hidden."

"Right." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "How did you know I was home?"

"Lucky guess? Look, I'm sorry, George," she pleads, interrupting him. "I mean it. I…I dunno what came over me…I was mad and disappointed with myself, and you're right, I shouldn't have taken it out on you. That's what I came here to say, and I totally get it if you don't want to hear it. I wasn't being fair, you didn't deserve that."

She stands there, waiting. Somewhere in the back of his mind, George is still unimpressed, reluctant to move on. And yet, against his will, he finds himself slowly breaking into a forgiving grin.

"You clingy Muggle," he says, opening his arms.

Flo lets out a sigh of relief and gladly accepts his hug.

* * *

 **viii.**

 _August 31_ _st_ _, 1996_

 _Dear George,_

 _Thanks for writing! I think Claudia saw the owl but thankfully she was busy mowing the lawn, and to be honest she probably thought it was a seagull or something._

 _I mean, I know you're busy with the shop, and it's okay if you can't make it. I'll be happy with the odd letter or two. And don't worry, I won't get mad this time, I promise._

 _Anyway, I've got some updates for you. I've decided to take a gap year. A gap's year when recent school leavers can take a year out before uni to do some really cool projects. My dad wasn't too pleased, but he knows I can take the time to learn some stuff outside of the classroom, you know?_

 _So, I applied for a volunteering scheme in Vietnam! Usually it's really expensive, but this one has a bursary you can apply for. Hopefully I'll get it, otherwise I'll look into some other ones. I'll let you know the result! They said they'll get back to me in a couple weeks' time._

 _I'm not sure what're the chances of writing once (if) I'm there, though. Can owls fly that far?! I'm doubtful. But hopefully I'll be back for a break in Christmas! (You realise we_ still _haven't spent a single day of the Christmas holidays together?)_

 _Again, thanks for the great summer. I'll never forget screaming my head off whilst you did your South Grip Row or whatever it's called._

 _Say hi to Fred from me!_

 _Your friend,_

 _Flo_


End file.
